“They’re here,” Mendez replied. Dr. Halsey caught a glimpse of motion in the dark: a shadow againstshadows, a familiar silhouette.
“Kelly?” she whispered.
The trainers turned and fired at the shadow, but it moved with almost supernatural quickness. Even theself-targeting systems couldn’t track it.
From above, a man free-rappelled down from the girders and gantries overhead. The newcomer landedbehind one of the perimeter guards, quiet as a cat. He punched the guard’s armor twice, denting theheavy plates, then dropped low and swept the target’s legs out from under him. The guard sprawled onthe ground.
The Spartan attached his rappelling line to the trainer. A moment later the writhing guard shot upward,into the darkness.
Two other guards turned to attack.
The Spartan dodged, rolled, and melted into the shadows.
Dr. Halsey realized the trainer’s exoskeleton wasn’t being pulled up—it was being used as acounterweight.
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Two more Spartans, dangling from the other end of that rope, dropped unnoticed into the center of thebunker. Dr. Halsey immediately recognized one of them, although he was dressed entirely in black, savehis open eye slits—Number 117. John.
John landed, braced, and kicked one guard. The man landed in a heap . . . eight meters away.
The other Spartan jumped off the bunker; he flipped end over end, evading the stun rounds that filled theair. He threw himself at the farthest guard and they skidded together into the shadows. The guard’s gunstrobed once, and then it was dark again.
On top of the bunker, John was a blur of slashing motions. A second guard’s exosuit erupted in afountain of hydraulic fluid and then collapsed under the armor’s weight.
The last guard on the bunker turned to fire at John. Halsey gripped the edge of her chair. “He’s at pointblank range! Even stun rounds can kill at that distance!”
As the guard’s gun fired, John sidestepped. The stun rounds slashed through the air, a clean miss. Johngrabbed the weapon’s armature—twisted—and with a screech of stressed metal, wrenched it free of theexoskeleton. He fired directly into the man’s chest and sent him tumbling off the bunker.
The remaining quartet of perimeter guards turned and sprayed the area with suppression fire.
A heartbeat later, the lights went out.
Mendez cursed and keyed the mike. “Backups. Hit the backup lights now!”
A dozen amber floods flickered to life.
Not a Spartan was in sight, but the nine trainers were either unconscious or lay immobile in inert battle
armor.
The red flag was gone.
“Show me that again,” Dr. Halsey said unbelievingly. “You recorded all that, didn’t you?”
“Of course.” Mendez tapped a button but the monitors played back—static. “Damn it. They got to thecameras, too,” he muttered, impressed. “Every time we find a new place to hide them, they disable therecording devices.”
Dr. Halsey leaned against the glass wall staring at the carnage below. “Very well, Chief Mendez, whatelse do I need to know?”
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“Your Spartans can run at bursts of up to fifty-five KPH,” he explained. “Kelly can run a little faster, Ithink. They will only get quicker as they adjust to the ‘alterations’ we’ve made to their bodies. They canlift three times their body weight—which, I might add, is almost double the norm due to their increasedmuscle density. And they can virtually see in the dark.”
Dr. Halsey pondered this new data. “They should not be performing so well. There must be unexplainedsynergistic effects brought on by the combined modifications. What are their reaction times?”
“Almost impossible to chart. We estimate it at twenty milliseconds,” Mendez replied. He shook hishead, then added, “I believe it’s significantly faster in combat situations, when their adrenaline ispumping.”
“Any physiological or mental instabilities?”
“None. They work like no team I’ve ever seen before. Damn near telepathic, if you ask me. They weredropped in these caves yesterday, and I don’t know where they got black suits or the rope that for thatmaneuver, but I can guarantee they haven’t left this room. They improvise and improve and adapt.
“And,” he added, “theylike it. The tougher the challenge, the harder the fight . . . the better their moralebecomes.”
Dr. Halsey watched as the first trainer stirred and struggled to get out of his inert armor. “They might aswell have been killed,” she murmured. “But can the Spartans kill, Chief? Kill on purpose? Are theyready for real combat?”
Mendez looked away and paused before he spoke. “Yes. If we ordered them to, they would kill quiteefficiently.” His body stiffened. “May I ask what ‘real combat’ you mean, ma’am?”
She clasped her hands and wrung them nervously. “Something has happened, Chief. Something ONI andthe Admiralty never expected. The brass wants to deploy the Spartans. They want to test them in a realcombat mission.”
“They’re as ready for that as I can make them,” Mendez said. He narrowed his dark eyes. “But this is farahead of your schedule. What happened? I’ve heard rumors there was some heavy action near Harvestcolony.”
“Your rumors are out-of-date, Chief,” she said, and a chill crept into her voice. “There’s no morefighting at Harvest. Thereis no more Harvest.”
Dr. Halsey punched the descent button, and the observation room slowly lowered to the floor.
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“Get them out of this hole,” she said crisply. “I want them ready to muster at 0400. We have a briefingat 0600 tomorrow aboard thePioneer . We’re taking them on a mission ONI has been saving for the rightcrew and the right time. This is it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mendez replied.
“Tomorrow we see if all the pain they’ve been through has been worth it.”
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CHAPTER NINE
0605 Hours, September 12, 2525 (Military Calendar) / UNSC DestroyerPioneer , en route toEridanus System.
John and the other Spartans stood at ease.
The briefing room aboard the UNSC DestroyerPioneer made him uncomfortable. The holographicprojectors at the fore end of the triangular room showed the field of stars visible off the bow of the ship.John wasn’t used to seeing so much space; he kept expecting the room to decompress explosively.
The stars flickered and faded and the overhead lights warmed. Chief Petty Officer Mendez and Dr.Halsey entered the room.
The Spartans snapped to attention.
“At ease,” Mendez said. He clasped his hands behind his back and clenched his jaw muscles. The Chieflooked almost . . . nervous.
That made John nervous, too.
Dr. Halsey walked to the podium. The overhead light reflected off her glasses. “Good morning,Spartans. I have good news for you. The word has come down. Command has decided to test yourunique abilities. You have a new mission: an insurgent base in the Eridanus System.”
A star map appeared on the wall and zoomed in to show a warm orange sun ringed with twelve planets.“In 2513, an armed insurrection in this system was suppressed by the UNSC force—Operation:TREBUCHET.”
An intersystem tactical map appeared, and tiny icons representing destroyers and carriers winked on.They engaged a force of a hundred smaller ships. Pinpoints of fire appeared against the dark.
“The insurrection was put down,” Dr. Halsey continued. “However, elements of the rebel forces escapedand regrouped in the local asteroid belt.”
The map tilted and moved into the circle of debris around the star.
“Billions of rocks,” Dr. Halsey said, “where they hid from our forces . . . and continue to hide to this
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day. For some time ONI believed that the rebels were disorganized, and were lacking in leadership. Thatappears to have changed.
“We believe that one of these asteroids has been hollowed out, and that a formidable base has beenconstructed within. UNSC explorations into the belt have met either with no contact or with an ambushby superior forces.”
She paused, pushed up her glasses, and added, “The Office of Naval Intelligence has also confirmed thatFLEETCOM has discovered a security breach within their organization—a rebel sympathizer leakinginformation to these forces.”
John and the other Spartans shifted uneasily. A leak? It was possible. Déjà had shown them manyhistorical battles that had been won and lost because of traitors or informants. But it never occurred tohim that it could happen in the UNSC.
A flat picture flashed over the star map: a middle-aged man with thinning hair, a neatly trimmed beard,and watery gray eyes.
“This is their leader,” Dr. Halsey said. “Colonel Robert Watts. The original photo was taken afterOperation: TREBUCHET and has been computer aged.
“Your mission is to infiltrate the rebel base, capture Watts, and return him—alive and unharmed—toUNSC-controlled space. This will deprive the rebels of their new leadership. And it will provide ONI achance to interrogate Watts and root out traitors within FLEETCOM.”
Dr. Halsey stepped aside. “Chief Mendez?”
Mendez exhaled and unclasped his hands. He strode to the podium and cleared his throat. “Thisoperation will be different from your previous missions. You will be engaging the enemy using liverounds and lethal force. They will be returning the favor. If there is any doubt, any confusion—andmake no mistake: in combat, there will be confusion—takeno chances. Kill first, ask questions later.
“Support on this mission will be limited to the resources and firepower of this destroyer,” Mendezcontinued. “This is to minimize the chance of a leak in the command structure.”
Mendez walked to the star map. The face of Colonel Watts snapped off and blueprints for a Parabola-class freighter appeared.
“Although we don’t know the location of the rebel base, we believe they receive periodic shipmentsfrom Eridanus Two. The independent freighterLaden is due to leave space dock in six hours for a routinerecertification of her engines. She is being loaded with enough food and water to supply a small city.Additionally, her captain has been identified as a rebel officer thought to have been killed during
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Operation: TREBUCHET.
“You will slip aboard this freighter and hopefully hitch a ride to the rebel base. Once there, infiltrate theinstallation, grab Watts, and get off of that rock any way you can.”
Chief Mendez gazed at them all. “Questions?”
“Sir,” John said. “What are our extraction options?”
“You have two options: a panic button that will relay a distress signal to a preestablished listening ship.Also, thePioneer will stay on-station . . . briefly. Our window here is thirteen hours.” He tapped the starmap on the edge of the asteroid belt and it glowed with a blue Nav marker. “I’ll leave the extractionchoice up to you. But let me point out that this asteroid belt has a circumference of more than a billionkilometers . . . making it impossible to canvass with ONI surveillance craft. If things get hot, you will beon your own.
“Any other questions?”
The Spartans sat, silent and immobile.
“No? Well, listen up, Recruits,” Mendez added. “This time I’ve told you all the twists that I know of. Beprepared for anything.” His gaze fixed on John. “Squad Leader, you are hereby promoted to the rank ofPetty Officer Third Class.”
“Sir!” John snapped to attention.
“Assemble your team and equipment. Be ready to muster at 0300. We’ll drop you off at the EridanusTwo docks. You’re on your own from there.”
“Yes, sir!” John said.
Mendez saluted. He and Dr. Halsey then left the room.
John turned to face his teammates. The other Spartans stood at attention. Thirty-three—too many for thisoperation. He needed a small team: five or six maximum.
“Sam, Kelly, Linda, and Fred, meet me in the weapons locker in ten minutes.” The other Spartans sighedand their gazed dropped to the deck. “The rest of you fall out. You’ll have the more difficult part of thismission: You’ll have to wait here.”
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The weapons locker of thePioneer had been stocked with a bewildering array of combat equipment. Ona table were guns, knives, communication gear, body armor explosives, medical packs, survival gear,portable computers, even a thruster pack for maneuvering in space.
More important than the equipment, however, John assessed his team.
Sam had recovered from the augmentation faster than any of the other Spartans. He paced impatientlyaround the crates of grenades. He was the strongest of them all. He stood taller than John by a head. Hehad grown out his sandy hair to three centimeters. Chief Mendez had warned him that he was going tolook like a civilian soon.
Kelly, in contrast, had taken the longest to recover. She stood in the corner with her arms crossed overher chest. John had thought she wasn’t going to make it. She was still gaunt and her hair had yet to growback. Her face, however, still had its rough, angular beauty. She scared John a little, too. She was fastbefore . . . now no one could touch her if she didn’t allow it.
Fred sat cross-legged on the deck, twirling a razor-edged combat knife in glittering arcs. He alwayscame in second in all the contests. John thought he could have come in first, but he just didn’t like theattention. He was neither too short nor too tall. He wasn’t overly muscled or slim. His black hair wasshot with streaks of silver—a feature he hadn’t had before the augmentation. If anyone in the groupcould blend into a crowd, it would be him.
Linda was the quietest member of the group. She was pale, had close-cropped red hair, and green eyes.She was a crack shot, an artist with a sniper rifle.
Kelly circled the table once, and then selected a pair of grease-stained blue coveralls. Her name had beensloppily embroidered on the chest. “These our new trainee uniforms?”
“ONI provided them,” John said. “They’re supposed to match what the crew of theLaden wears.”
Kelly held the coveralls up and frowned. “They don’t give a girl much to work with.”
“Try this on for size.” Linda held a black body suit up to Kelly’s long slender frame.
They had used these black suits before. They were form-fitting, lightweight polymer body armor. Theycould deflect a small-caliber round and had refrigeration/heating units that would mask infraredsignatures. The integrated helmet had encryption and communications gear, a heads-up display, andthermal and motion detectors. Sealed tight, the unit had a fifteen-minute reserve of oxygen to let thewearer survive in vacuum.
The suits were uncomfortable, and they were tricky to repair in the field. And they always needed
